


My Skin Did Explode

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Body Modification, Cardassian Anatomy, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Xenophobia, based on a tumblr prompt, xeno sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Julian Bashir's career with Starfleet might be over, but it doesn't mean he isn't completely unwanted.





	My Skin Did Explode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverelfmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverelfmage/gifts), [Cyrelia_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/gifts).



The Cardassians offices are cold in a way that makes even Julian feel a chill. Perhaps, he wonders, the interrogation rooms are even more chilled, meant to facilitate a confession through hypothermia. Or perhaps the interrogators simply pull teeth and break bones to get a confession. Or—

The papers—Papers! Real papers! The novelty of it strikes Julian sharply—rustle as the Cardassian a the desk looks through them. Garak, his badge reads. He's got ice-blue eyes that pierce Julian.

"A doctor," he says. Not a question, a statement.

"Yes. That is, a Starfleet medical officer."

"Chief on _that_ station." The Cardassian's voice drips with contempt. 

Julian nods. "Terok Nor."

" _Terok_ Nor." It's a hiss and the contempt is really there, plain as the ridges on Garak’s face. "Well, since you're stellar in your records aside from the augment thing—" And there's that Cardassian scenting thing, the tongue flicking between his lips like a serpent— "The first step is the cosmetics."

"Cosmetics?"

"Plastic surgery," Garak explains. "We can't have a large number of Terrans walking about. That might cause a panic."

"Oh." Julian shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how alien he seems here. "Right."

"You'd make a handsome Cardassian," Garak says, signing off on something, not looking at Julian. "It's painless, too, if you're worried."

"Not worried, just . . . surprised."

Garak smiles. "I think you're going to like it here, dear precocious doctor."

* * *

"Stop poking at them," Garak scolds.

Garak had been right about the cosmetic work being painless and they did look incredible on his face, almost as if they'd belonged there his whole life. Julian lowers his hands from his ridges, like a child who'd been caught sneaking sweets. "Sorry."

"Now then," Garak says, voice cool and aloof. "You will be taking on the identity of a Doctor Niar Endon. To help you get used to our medical practices, I've brought in a friend."

The door slides open and in steps a man shorter than Garak, spectacles perched on his nose. He stares at Julian, eyes wide with fascination and warm with welcome. "So you're Garak's new pet project. He made you too handsome."

"Kelas," Garak warns. 

"Elim," Kelas says, either terribly oblivious to Garak's tone or wholly informed at choosing to ignore it. "He told me you were a doctor Ju—Niar."

Julian nods. "That's right."

"Oh wonderful." Kelas circles Julian, inspecting him. "Oh you're a spitting image too. What a relief, let me tell you."

"Kelas," Garak says again.

"Elim," Kelas warns. "I just want to know what I'm working with before I start. Measure twice, cut once, isn't it? In tailoring, I mean."

Garak huffs. Julian's unsure if Kelas truly does rub Garak against the grain of his scales or if it's that Cardassian flirtation Julian's heard so much about.

"You two aren't . . . you know?" Julian asks.

Kelas laughs. "Not exclusively, if you were curious."

Garak occupies himself with some papers instead, blatantly ignoring the question.

"Right," Kelas says, done inspecting the Terran-turned-Cardassian. "You're probably more familiar with data padds, so I've downloaded the medical texts. Technically, you have a medical license since you're taking on Niar's, but you won't be practicing until you're familiar with our processes and anatomical texts."

Julian nods. "I understand."

Kelas smiles widely, making Julian acutely aware that Cardassians are apex predators as well, and hands over a data padd. "For right now, you should just study and rest. Get used to having a new name. It's always hard to acclimate to being called something different."

Garak hands Julian a data padd as well. "Here is Niar's biography. You don't have to become him entirely, but if you take on some of his personality and habits, it would help you fit in better."

Kelas rolls his eyes. "You just worry about those medical texts. You've got a big test coming up."

Both Cardassians leave Julian alone in the apartment—just a small one-bedroom affair in Lakarian—bickering softly between them as they leave. 

Julian replicates a cup of tea, sweetened, and curls up to study.

* * *

Garak comes by often to check on Julian's progress, review test scores from Kelas.

"You're familiar with Cardassian customs?" Garak asks, watching as Julian stares out the window.

"A little," Julian admits. 

"You're going to have to be comfortable presenting as a Cardassian," Garak tells him. "You need to know how to dress, how to eat, the proper way to express interest in another person. And not in Kelas' way."

Julian turns away from the window, smiling at Garak. "Kelas is . . . different."

"He is."

"And here I thought all Cardassians were strict oppressors," Julian teases.

Garak stiffens. "You spent too much time around Bajorans."

"Do I reek like one of them?" Another gentle jab.

Garak scents the air. "No. You reek like Kelas."

Julian raises a brow ridge (used to the weight on his face and entirely comfortable with his new appearance) and takes the couch opposite Garak. "Do you make it a point to get so invested in all your cases?"

"When Kelas asks it, I spend a little more time," Garak admits. He studies Julian carefully, considering him. "I hope you aren't taking all your cues from him."

"No," Julian says, settling into a more easy and suggestive posture. "This is a more personal interest."

"You've finally begun to talk like a proper Cardassian," Garak notes.

"I'm having trouble," Julian admits, looking away from Garak, staring at the window, the lights from the city coming on slowly as the sun sets, leaving Lakarian a sprawl of warm stone.

"With what?"

"Understanding the clause about marriage," Julian admits. "I'm allowed to marry, but not produce offspring?"

"Hybrids raise suspicions," Garak answers.

"So if I took a wife," Julian looks over at Garak, finding the Cardassian thoroughly interested in him, "I would simply be forbidden from making love to her?"

"No," Garak says. "The Order provides contraceptives to those who assimilate properly and arranges discreet adoptions or surrogates, should you and your . . . wife decide you'd want offspring."

Julian nods in understanding. "I see. And if I had a husband—"

"There'd be none of these concerns," Garak says.

"I see."

Garak is quiet as he looks Julian over again, eyes following the curve of Julian's cheekbones, the slope of his neck—broader with the ridges. "Are you interested in someone already? I couldn't imagine—"

"You'll have to drag the confession out of me," Julian challenges. "It wouldn't be that hard, Mister Garak."

"Just Garak," Garak says. He locks eyes with Julian. "You're good at displaying your interest, but honestly—"

"Kelas," Julian says. "I know."

"I'm sure, if you truly wanted to, Kelas would be more than enthused to add you to our . . . affair."

Julian nods. "I'll consider it."

* * *

"Oh, you're good," Kelas says, going over the results of Julian's last exam on Cardassian anatomy and proper medical procedures. "I'm proud to announce, Doctor, that you can go into practice. I'll be supervising you and I'll have a very close eye on you."

"Thank you, Kelas," Julian says.

"Now, let's get some lunch. You've probably been all cooped up in this apartment for ages," Kelas says, papers folded neatly for Garak's review, an untidy, looping signature on one of the forms. 

"Alright." Julian stands and stretches, catlike and graceful. 

Kelas, always refusing to tell Julian the finer details, simply steps out into the hall. Julian follows after the doctor, content to simply be with him in silence.

"I hope it's still here," Kelas adds while they get on the lift. "I thought it might be a proper place to celebrate you being Niar properly."

Julian simply nods, allowing himself to be led.

As they step out of the building, Julian's nearly overwhelmed by the heat and the noise. The sun pounds relentless on Julian's body, making him want nothing more than to strip. Kelas seems to know what Julian's thinking because he looks up and gives the Terran-turned-Cardassian a wink.

But Kelas is quick, winding through crowds like a serpent down a rabbit hole, leaving Julian mimicking him as best he can to cut through the rush. Surprisingly, he fits in. No one stares at him, no one hisses xenophobia at him. It's just a regular interaction between strangers.

Kelas darts between two buildings and Julian's left wondering how, with that curve of his spine, the older doctor is so quick. The alleyway is much cooler, darker. Still warm, but it doesn't make Julian feel the need to strip down in public. 

At the end of the alley is a single unmarked door. Kelas looks over his shoulder, grinning at Julian before knocking in code. The door slides open.

Taking Julian's hand, Kelas drags him inside. 

It's cool an dark and a blessed relief. The place is populated by Cardassians, but there's something easy in their posture, off about the way they move in their own skin.

"It's for trans-Cardassians like yourself," Kelas explains. 

"Are you—"

"No," Kelas says. "I'm Cardassian through and through. Born and bred. but I appreciate the company here and like to check up on them."

"Kelas."

Kelas turns, distracted by a Cardassian—or transitioning Cardassian—who approaches to put an arm around the doctor's waist. Smiling, Kelas answers, "Jack. You remember Julian, don't you?"

The smile on Jack's face falls to the floor. "I do, mhm."

"Jack," Kelas warns. "It's not like that now."

"Another augment on the curb like last night's trash, hmm." Jack sized Julian up and Julian only recognizes Jack when he sees the mania in the other augment's eyes. "He's welcome with you, but we won't be kind."

"I didn't expect you to suck his dick," Kelas hisses. "He's Garak's."

"Oh." Jack's eyes widen. "Oh."

Kelas nods, some unspoken innuendo between them. Jack's posture loses some of the tension. 

"And we're here for a quick lunch," Kelas assures Jack. "Though I might come back later for something more."

Julian looks elsewhere, studying the decor, the other people who seem to pay Kelas and his companion no mind. 

"Later," Jack assures Kelas. He kisses Kelas' hand, teeth nipping gently at Kelas' skin. "Mhm."

"Sorry," Kelas says to Julian. "Jack's a good man. He's got more at stake here than you do."

And, if he looks carefully, Julian's almost certain he sees Sarina at the counter

* * *

Garak's wonderful with his mouth, nipping gently at Julian's neck, right where those ridges are most sensitive. Everything, since the nerve have been rearranged under Julian's skin, is a new sensation. Things that used to leave him a shuddering mess now barely affect him but Garak's teeth on his neck has arousal bubbling up hot in his abdomen. 

"Bed," Garak hisses. 

Julian nods, leading Garak to the bedroom, stripping as they go. He can even smell Garak, Julian's tongue tasting the air. It's rich and unmistakably a preamble to sex.  
But he's unsure how to proceed. Garak, content with the pace enough that he lays back in Julian's bed and appraises the Terran-turned-Cardassian—seems so comfortable with his anatomy—Julian can name all the parts in clinical terms and in Kardasi slang—but Julian's unsure about how it all works aside form some minor experimenting like a teenager fumbling in the shower or in the dark.

"What's wrong?" Garak's voice is low and rough, drawing the 's' into a hissing sound. 

"I'm, um, that is I—"

"Scared?"

Julian shakes his head. "I just—"

"You haven't done it like this," Garak says. He seems amused by the observation. "Impressive. I thought Kelas would have gotten to you first."

"Kelas is attractive."

"Come here." It's an order, sharp and clear, and Julian's happy to comply. 

Garak makes Julian lay back, Garak looming over Julian. He runs his claws down Julian's chest, the threat of being scratched over that soft scaling vvery real. But instead, Garak's other hand reaches between Julian's thighs. 

"They did good work with you," Garak notes, just tracing the scaling around Julian's slit. "A Cardassian plain and simple."

And Garak's got some expertise in what he's doing because Julian's breath hitches, warmth blooming through him, need and want hot in his hips. When Garak's fingers—just two of them—slip into his slit, Julian gasps. It's not a terrible feeling, just alien. Slow, lazy massaging coaxes Julian into everting and it leaves Julian shivering.

"You can't be done yet," Garak chides. "We haven't even started."

Julian catches his breath and admits, "I could get used to this."

Garak hums. "Augment stamina."

And there's weight as Garak straddles Julian. While the Terran-turned-Cardassian watches, Garak sinks down onto his cock without a second thought. Instinctively, Julian grasps at Garak's hips, claws sinking in. Garak raises a brow ridge, but makes no move to stop him, says nothing.

Instead, Garak rocks his hips, riding Julian fast and hard, writhing and hissing with delight. And Julian can think of nothing but the slope of Garak's neck, the way his scales are flushed almost black, the scent of him. And Julian, giving into what feels most natural, writhes rather that fucking straight up into Garak's welcoming slit. 

Garak cums first, seed leaking more than splattering on Julian's belly. Julian's not quite satisfied, holding Garak's hips down until the Cardassian's slit squeezes just so, Julian filling Garak.

Garak's expression is hard to read, somewhere between icy and vulnerable. "You know Cardassians can go for hours."

"Hours," Julian repeats, considering it. "Alright."

"Don't get cocky," Garak hisses. "I could bend you right over."

Julian, holding Garak tightly, rolls them so Garak's the one laying on his beck. "I don't think you will, Mister Garak."


End file.
